


Knock Out

by mickeysbubblebutt (brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, M/M, based on some prompt i found on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 02:37:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4204812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/mickeysbubblebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt: I was super pissed so I went to the gym, even though it’s really late, so I’m the only one there, and I was at the punching bag listening to music, and you surprised me by tapping me on the shoulder, holy shit, I didn’t mean to punch you, I’m so sorry, but seriously, why the hell would you surprise someone who is angry and punching things?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knock Out

Mickey Milkovich had had a long fucking day. While he didn’t normally hate working with family, this afternoon had almost seen him forgetting that Iggy was his brother.

The dumb fuck had told them that everything would be fine.

_“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Guy’ll be gone for hours.”_

Only the fucking guy hadn’t been gone for hours. Barely twenty minutes into the job, the big shot lawyer in the fancy suit had arrived to find his house being robbed. And unlike some of the liberal do-gooder defense attorneys Mickey had met during any one of his previous arrests, this guy had had no problem exercising his Second Amendment rights.

They’d all come within a hairsbreadth of being shot.

_It was the last fucking time Mickey would let that asshole act as lookout._

Now, all Mickey needed was some alone time with the nearest punching bag. And luckily for him, there was a gym a couple blocks away from his apartment. That place was about the only good thing about the wave of gentrification that had overtaken the South Side; it had all the equipment, and the staff knew to give him wide berth for the most part.

Sparing a few minutes to change into a pair of sweats and a tank, Mickey then headed directly over to the corner of the gym where the punching bags hung. Mickey noticed that the place was all but deserted; he wondered what the time was. Between running away from the enraged mark, yelling at Iggy, and pacing around his apartment wishing he could yell at his dumbass brother some more, he hadn’t actually checked.

_Whatever_ , Mickey thought dismissively.  _Didn’t make any fucking differenc_ e.

He found the stereo that sat at the front of the room. The thing was kinda old, not worth much, but had a docking station. That was all Mickey needed. Picking the playlist he reserved for days like this, Mickey turned the music up until he could feel the vibrations under his feet.

For a moment, Mickey just concentrated on the music. The heavy bass, the screaming vocals, it was strangely soothing. He then approached one of the bags, raised his arm, and lost himself in the jarring thuds of his fists hitting the leather.

_Peace. If only for a little while._

_\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

More than anything, Ian wanted to go home. He had a date he wasn’t really looking forward to, but it was better than sitting around doing nothing. And who knew, maybe the chemistry that had so far been lacking would suddenly spring to life after a few drinks.

_Yeah, right._

Ian was just preparing to lock up when he heard music blaring through the otherwise quiet gym. The noise startled him; he could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the suddenness of the sound. 

Taking a steadying breath, Ian scowled in the general direction the racket was coming from.

_Who the hell came to gym at this time of the night?_

He released a heavy breath. It was likely some insomniac gym bunny looking to buff up for… whatever goddamn reason they had for doing shit like that.

As a personal trailer, Ian wholeheartedly supported the idea of working out. But there were some people who took it to the extreme. And that was what he was expecting to find when he entered the section of the gym filled with punching bags: some muscle head looking to show off for his buddies, or the latest piece of tail.

Only, that wasn’t what he found.

Instead, it was some dark haired guy pummelling one of the bags as though it’d done him a great personal wrong.

The man was of about average height, but was obviously strong. His shirt was sticking to his back, and his skin was gleaming with sweat.

Ian felt the most ridiculous flicker of interest at the sight.

_Wow, okay, now was not the time_ , he mentally chided his libido.

“Uh, excuse me?” Ian called out from a few feet away.

 No response. Not that that was entirely surprising. With the volume of the music, Ian would be surprised if people across town couldn’t hear it.

“Hello!” He took a few steps closer, raising his voice.

_Nada._

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Ian grumbled. His earlier appreciation replaced by impatience, Ian walked right up to the wannabe Rocky, and reached out to tap him on the shoulder.

The last thing Ian saw was the guy’s face twisted in a snarl, before a fist landed on his jaw.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Fuck._

For a moment, all Mickey could do was stare down at where the lanky redhead was lying on the floor. To say that the touch on his shoulder had been unexpected would be putting it lightly. After years of his father’s beatings, Mickey knew better than to allow someone at his back.

So, reacting on instinct, Mickey had immediately lashed out at the person behind him. Which had turned out to be a staff member.

_Goddamn it._

Shaking off his surprise, and the sudden flare of guilt, Mickey crouched down beside the guy he’d knocked out. He slapped the man lightly on his cheek.

“Yo, you okay?”

Silence.

He felt bad about it, but this time he smacked the guy a little harder.

“C'mon, rise an’ shine, Cinderella.”

Still nothing. 

“Hey, man, wake up!”

This time he delivered a sharp slap that had the guy’s eyes snapping open. Mickey exhaled with relief. For a second there, Mickey had worried that maybe he’d killed the redhead.

“Ouch.”

He sounded so surprised that Mickey had to bite back a grin.

“You okay?” Mickey asked.

“Course.” The redhead attempted to sit up, but Mickey put his hand gently on the guy’s shoulder.

“Take it easy, man. You, uh, you got hit pretty hard.”

The poor schmuck allowed it for a moment; then, the guy’s face creased into an indignant scowl.

“Yeah, you should know. Don’t touch me,” he added as he brushed aside Mickey’s hand. “First, you come in here, an’ start blaring this shitty music,” he said, nodding in the direction of the stereo that was still on.

“Hey, it’s not–” Mickey interjected. 

“Then,” the redhead continued, talking over him, “you punch me in the face. For no good reason.”

“Well, it’s your own fuckin’ fault,” Mickey said defensively. He stood up quickly. “What kinda moron surprises a guy who’s goin’ at a punchin’ bag like that?”

The redhead stared at him from his spot on the floor.

“You victim blaming asshole.” He sounded slightly dazed.

Shaking his head, the guy got to his feet. He stood there for a moment, seeming to get his bearings, before taking a threatening step towards Mickey. 

Or what would’ve been a threatening step. Because instead of coming at him, the guy ended up staggering to the side.

“Shit,” Mickey muttered under his breath. He grabbed the guy’s arm to steady him. “You don’t look okay,” he commented. In fact, the redhead’s freckles were standing out in stark contrast to his already pale skin all of a sudden.

“I’m fine,” was the stubborn response.

“Uh-huh. Sure you are, tough guy. C'mon,” Mickey added, “I’m takin’ you to the hospital to get your head checked.”

 “The hell makes you think I’m goin’ anywhere with you?” the guy asked indignantly. “Anybody in here needs to get checked out, it’s you. You punched me in the head!”

He felt a fresh surge of guilt at the reminder that it was kinda his fault that the redhead needed to go to the hospital in the first place, but he wasn’t going to add to it by leaving the guy alone with a possible concussion.

“You ain’t in any position to be arguin’,” Mickey snapped. “You hit the ground pretty hard.”

“An’ whose fault was that?”

It took a couple of minutes to convince the guy, who begrudgingly admitted that his name was Ian, to come with him. Finally, the disgruntled redhead locked up the gym, and followed Mickey over to his car.

Which was when he balked.

“This is your car?” Ian asked. He sounded unimpressed.

Mickey took a deep breath.  _Maybe he should just take this asshole at his word that he was fine, and get home._

“Yeah.”

“If I’m gonna die, it’s not gonna be in this POS.”

“Look, man, you can get in the front seat, or you can go in the trunk. But you are goin’ to the fuckin’ hospital,” Mickey snapped.

Something about his expression must have convinced Ian that he was serious. Because after a sullen, ‘ _Whatever_ ,’ he got into the car. Mickey did his best to hide his relief.

_It’d be a bitch trying to explain to hospital staff why he’d stuffed a ginger in the trunk of his car._

The ride to the emergency room was mostly quiet, with the silence being broken occasionally by Ian’s disparaging comments about his ride.

“This thing belongs in the scrap yard,” he muttered after the vehicle made an unhealthy rattling sound as they pulled off. “Like being driven ‘round in a giant trash can,” he added, looking pointedly at the candy wrappers and old takeout containers lying around the inside of the car.

“Kinda liked you better when you were unconscious,” Mickey grumbled.

Once they arrived at the hospital, Mickey hurried around the front of the car to get the passenger door.

“This isn’t a date, and I got legs,” Ian told him with a glare. “I can open my own damn door.”

“Just get out.”

Letting out an irritable huff, Ian got out of the car; he wobbled unsteadily as he straightened to his full height.

“Crap.”

“C’mon,” Mickey muttered. “Let’s go.” He moved to wrap an arm around Ian’s waist to make sure the guy didn’t do a face plant.

“What are you doin’?”

Mickey felt himself colouring at the weird look Ian was giving him.

_Did he think Mickey was putting the moves on him?_

“You want me to get you a wheelchair?”

“Jesus, what the fuck for?” Ian demanded.

“Did I seriously hit you that hard, or are you just stupid? You can barely stand up straight. You think you’re gonna make it all the way to the front desk?”

“Any chance you’ll just go away?”

“Not gonna happen, man.”

There was a moment of silence as Ian seemed to be considering his options. He gave in with a scowl.

“Fine.”

Since Ian seemed mostly okay, apart from the dizziness, they ended up waiting three hours to see a doctor. Ian spent the first hour trying to convince Mickey to leave, the next complaining about having to blow off a date, and eventually ended up slumped in his seat, with his head resting on Mickey’s shoulder.

_And M_ _ickey wasn’t entirely sure how that had happened._

“Gallagher?” a clipped voice called out.

Looking up, the saw a sour looking nurse standing a few feet away with a clipboard in her hands.

“Here,” Ian answered.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright, what have we got here?” the nurse asked. She didn’t sound particularly interested, just kept flipping through whatever the hell forms were attached to the clipboard.

Ian saw Mickey shifting uncomfortably from out of the corner of his eye.

It was weird, Ian mused. Seeing as how it was Mickey’s fault he was in this mess, he should be enjoy seeing the dark haired man squirm.

Only, he wasn’t.

Rather, Ian was oddly touched by Mickey’s stubborn refusal to leave him alone at the hospital. And when Ian’s head had started feeling heavy, Mickey hadn’t uttered a word of protest when Ian placed his head on Mickey’s shoulder.

So, instead of giving Nurse Cranky Pants all the details, Ian kept it to the bare minimum.

“I fell.”

And so, they went through the normal rigmarole after that. She asked him if he was feeling nauseous, or experiencing blurred vision. Once they’d established that Ian hadn’t suffered any serious injuries from his assisted fall, the nurse advised him to apply some ice to the back of his head.

“But if he experiences any memory loss, vomiting, or loss of consciousness, you bring him right back, we clear?” she told Mickey sternly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Cleared to leave, Ian allowed Mickey to steer him back towards the rustbucket he called a car. While they were walking, Ian took the time to examine the other man’s face.

He wasn’t bad looking. Pale skin, piercing blue eyes, and full lips that Ian found himself inappropriately transfixed by, given the circumstances.

“What?” Mickey asked, feeling Ian’s gaze on him.

Knowing that he was likely risking another fist to the jaw, Ian just blurted it out. Later, if things went awry, he’d blame the whole thing on the meeting his skull had had with the floor. 

“Are you seein’ anyone?”

Mickey paused in the middle of helping Ian into the car. He gave Ian a strange look.

“There a reason you’re interested?”

“I was thinkin’ of askin’ you out on a date,” Ian admitted candidly.

Silence as Mickey shut the door behind him, then went around the car to get into the driver’s seat. It was only after they’d left the hospital parking lot that Mickey spoke again. 

“Gimme your address.”

Watching Mickey cautiously, Ian rattled it off, all the while waiting for the to answer his earlier question.

“Well, what d’you think?” he asked impatiently after a few minutes.

“Think ‘bout what?”

“I asked you out, asshole. Don’t leave me hangin’.”

“Must’ve hit you harder than I thought,” Mickey said with a huff of laughter. It didn’t escape Ian’s notice that he still hadn’t replied.

“Don’t do that,” Ian grumbled. “I’m serious. What you doin’ Friday night?”

They finally pulled up outside the Gallagher house. Ian had considered moving out a couple of times, but figured it was just easier to stay at home and pool resources with the rest of the family.

But that wasn’t important right now. What was important was his answer.

“Guess I’ll be goin’ on a date with you,” Mickey said finally.


End file.
